


The Angel and the Righteous Woman

by caffeinatednightowl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Genderbending, Genderswap, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatednightowl/pseuds/caffeinatednightowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna Winchester doesn't believe in angels, until one walks through the barn door and tells her she's destined to save the world. Alternate canon with Dean Winchester born as a girl. Planned canon divergence later in the fic. FIC ABANDONED AT THE MOMENT - WILL BE REWRITTEN FOCUSING ONLY ON THE S8/S9 MOMENTS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Deanna died, the last thing she had seen before darkness enveloped her was Sammy.

Fitting, she supposed; her life had always been about Sammy.

Her earliest memories were of her mother gently placing that tiny bundle into her arms. “Deanna, Sammy is little right now, but he’ll always need you to protect him.” Deanna didn’t realize how true that would end up being until _that night_ months later when John Winchester had shoved Sammy into her arms, “Deanna, take Sam and run!”

Who knew those words would become the driving force behind her life?

One time, while posing as a sexy-but-professional FBI agent while on a case, the young-and-kind-of-cute sheriff had asked her about her childhood. If Deanna was honest, she didn’t really have a childhood.

While normal girls were dressing themselves up as princesses and asking their parents for ponies for their birthday, Deanna was holed up in a skivvy motel room, adjusting the television antenna so Sammy could watch cartoons. While other girls had dance lessons, John Winchester took his daughter outside and taught her how to fire off a shotgun just in case something found them while he was on a case. While normal siblings fought and argued, Deanna gave into everything Sammy wanted; doing everything in her power to make sure Sammy grew up normal, even if it meant sacrificing everything she wanted for it.

So maybe Deanna had some massive maternal instincts when it came to her little brother; screw it—she could still kick your ass seven ways to sunday and then some.

Thinking about her father was a whole other can of worms. At first, John had been reluctant to tell Deanna anything about how his hunts went. He only taught her what he knew so she could protect Sammy if it came to it. He only taught her how to fix the car on the crazy off chance that it broke down and John was incapacitated. Paranoid bastard—he only taught her what he did just in case it threatened Sammy.

Around the time she was sixteen though—a time when other girls were pining over football jocks and giggling about being asked to a dance—Deanna wanted nothing more than to join her father and blow a couple of werewolves brains out.

John had forbade it—“someone has to protect Sammy” he had said, despite Deanna’s protests. It was the same excuse he gave every time, and eventually, she was sick of it.

“It’s because I’m a girl, right?” she finally demanded. She had often wondered if maybe her father would’ve treated her with a bit more respect if she had been male. Though, when she honestly thought about it, probably not.

“No,” John had answered. Deanna didn’t really buy it, but he had spoken in his “Don’t question me” tone, and that was that.

It wasn’t until she was seventeen that she had a chance to prove herself—John had hunted a shifter, killed and buried the sucker, and had gone to collect Deanna and Sam from the motel without realizing there was a _second_ shifter. John had left the door open since he wanted to be on the road, and he was currently waking Sammy up and coaxing him to change out of his pajamas when Deanna saw it racing for them, a gun in its hand— _Bang!_ —the bastard fell down, Deanna’s pistol smoking in her hands.

One shot, and that was all it took for John Winchester’s respect.

She was allowed on a few hunts after that—only hunts that John knew what he was dealing with and he was sure she could handle. Deanna wanted to tackle more difficult monsters, but she knew not to push her father—John had given her respect, not the ability to call the shots.

Not everyone understood though. “Why do you want to go on hunts so badly?” Sammy had asked, around the time he turned sixteen and had gotten pretty irritable. John had allowed Sam to come along sometimes by the time he was fifteen, but only on the condition that Deanna spend all her time making sure Sam was safe.

“Because I want to keep others safe,” was all she had replied.

“You don’t have t follow in your daddy’s footsteps,” Bobby had told her, one week when John was on a particularly difficult poltergeist hunt and had forbade his children from joining. “Both of you are bright kids. There’s so much more for you out there, if you wanted it.”

“But I don’t,” was all she had said.

All good things eventually came to an end. Probably one of her most vivid memories was the night she discovered Sammy’s Stanford acceptance letter in his backpack. “You really just want to leave?” she had demanded, knowing she had to get this away before John came home and discovered it.

“Yeah, I do!” Sam had yelled back. “I’m tired of moving from motel-to-crappy-motel room! I’m tired of sleeping with a shotgun under my pillow! I just want to get out; do something worthwhile with my life!”

Deanna had swallowed. “We save people, Sam.”

“We don’t need to save everyone! There are other hunters out there; we don’t need to do this just because Dad wants us to!”

Deanna had shook her head so wildly that her shoulder-length, slightly wavy light-brown hair had hit her in the face—strange that of everything, that was one thing that stuck out most from that memory. “So you’re just going to leave us then? Leave _me?_ ”

Sam had swallowed; he couldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re not my _mother_ , Deanna.”

He was right; she _wasn’t_. But maybe she had tried too hard to give him something like it.

Sam had it out with John soon afterward. Deanna didn’t remember much about the fight; she didn’t want to remember.

All she knew was; those years afterward where it was just John and her were probably some of the most miserable times of her life. Sure, John would take her to the bars to get info, introduce her as “this is my daughter, Deanna, and if you keep staring at her like that, she ‘s gonna punch you in the face”, but as soon as they were alone, John would stop talking, and start drinking.

Deanna was actually kind of relieved when John finally let her go hunting on her own.

She was happy; at least, that’s what she would tell herself as she plunged a silver dagger into shapeshifter and then went to the bar to drink and maybe pick up a quick fuck afterwards. She was saving people and living it up on her own. What more could she want?

She never put the pieces together until she went to Stanford that night to find Sammy after John went missing.

Those few days where they hunted down the Woman in White were some of the most fun Deanna had in a long time, and she didn’t put the pieces together until she was dropping Sammy back off at Stanford.

“Deanna,” he said, “You know, I get it—you don’t like being alone.”

She cracked a laugh. “The hell you talking about, Sammy?”

But Sam kept looking at her with those big brown puppy eyes of his. “Deanna, you spend so much time traveling, hunting—do you have any friends?”

She shook her head in that incredulous fashion. “Sammy, I’m a hunter, Jesus—I don’t have time for friends.”

“Maybe you should take some time,” Sam looked guilty back at his house behind him, where his girl was no doubt waiting for him to come home and smother him in hugs. “You not dad, all right? You don’t have to do that big loner thing. You should just—just find someone to go hunting with. To watch your back. Look, I have—I have a life here, but you…I dunno. Keep in touch, okay? I’ll worry about you if you don’t.”

Deanna smiled, doubting it. “Sure, Sammy. I’ll try to stop by every so-often.”

Of course, “every-so-often” turned into “twenty-minutes-later-when-I’m-saving-your-ass-from-a-burning-building-for-the-second-time-in-my-life” but well, no one could’ve seen that coming.

So they set off together; “saving people and hunting things” but even then, it wasn’t perfect. Of course, Deanna never let it on. Honestly, she was thrilled—despite the weird and disturbing fact that everyone asked if they were together, it was fun. Sammy was back, they were kicking ass and taking names—all should’ve been well.

Something still felt like it was missing, though.

So she tried to fill that gap with what she could—ganking bitches, booze, sexy dudes with just the right amount of scruff and the backseat of the car—it was enough, then.

Things only got worse after John died.

That gap grew wider and wider by the day. There was nothing quite like the guilt of knowing that someone died to save your life. And then when she failed the _one thing_ she couldn’t screw up— _God, Sammy—_ It was all her fault. She had one job, _one job_ since she was younger—“look after Sammy”. And she couldn’t even do that.

It was a relief when she grabbed that skinny, scruffy demon and gave him a kiss she hoped he would remember for centuries.

Sammy didn’t even thank her.

He just didn’t understand; she was so tired. She was like a car running on its last legs—eventually, you had to come to terms with it and put it out to pasture. She shouldn’t be alive anyway—it was just setting things right.

Sam kept trying to find a way to get her out of her deal, but she would’ve never allowed it; it was _her choice_ , and he had to respect that. She just wanted one last year to raise a little Hell before going downstairs.

And raise Hell, she did. She ganked sons-of-bitches, had some fun running from the FBI (that had this weird idea that she and Sammy were living the Folgers life), catfighting that British bitch Bela (also, the fact that she found herself staring at Bela’s rather ample chest definitely deserved some thought on those nights she couldn’t sleep) and watching Sammy squirm whenever that weird thing he and Ruby had going between them was brought up.

But all things must come to an end.

Yeah, it was painful, terrifying—but the last thing she saw was Sammy’s face.

He was _alive._

She had kept her promise to John.

That’s all that mattered.

\-----------------------------------------------

It was quite a surprise when she woke up in that pine box, six feet under. Of course, her first thoughts were confusion ( _this didn’t feel like Hell, she had been there for decades, so she knew it well)_ , then panic, ( _was this some new torture Alistair had come up with? But last she heard, he was pleased with her—his sweet little mistress of pain)_ , then the realization that she would run out of air if she didn’t get out of there soon.

Upon taking her first breath above ground, she realized that she must not be in Hell. She could breathe—feel—it was all too real.

The only clue she had was the destruction around what had been her grave. Trees toppled over; all vegetation dead. She didn’t need a hunter’s sense to realize that was freaky.

 _Something_ had obviously brought her back. And in her experience, it could be nothing good.

That feeling was almost confirmed when she ended up on the floor of the abandoned gas station, covered in broken glass and holding her pounding ears. The box of salt had fallen on the floor, spilling all over the scuffed tile, useless. Finally, after seconds of scrunching her eyes and hearing a sound so high pitched it made her brain feel like it was bleeding, it stopped.

After a minute of breathing hard and realizing it was over, there was only one thought in her mind;

_Gotta tell somebody._

\------------------------------

She probably should’ve expected Bobby wouldn’t take it well.

“C’mon, Bobby, it’s me!” she yelled, fighting him off as he attempted to plunge a silver dagger into her heart. One slip of a hand here, and she’d be back in a pine box and back in the Pit.

“That’s impossible; you were dead!” Bobby yelled, as Deanna fought him for the silver knife. “Sam and I patched up your wounds ourselves! Your chest was ribbons! He saw the life seep out of your eyes!”

One last shove, and Deanna finally wrenched the knife free. “I know, damnit,” she snarled; she had no intention on reliving that moment just now. “But if I was a shifter, or a revanant, or any of those freaky things, could I do _this_ with a silver knife?” Grimacing at the slight pain, she slid the knife across her arm, drawing blood. This seemed to satisfy Bobby.

Well, placate him. He stopped trying to kill her, at least. Though when she looked at the old hunter, who had been like a father to her for all these years, the tension in his face just ebbed away and he smiled. “It’s—it’s good to have you back,” and he pulled her into a hug.

“Missed you too, Bobby,” she smiled, pulling back.

“I don’t understand it, though,” said Bobby, as he stared at her, offering her a beer. Deanna accepted—that cool bitter taste felt like heaven after years of choking down ash and dust. “You were dead. You were in _Hell._ Do you remember anything?”

Of course Deanna remembered. She remembered the smell of it—that iron twang of blood and stomach-turning stench of rotting flesh. She remembered how she had to squint because the heat from the flames down below was overpowering. The stench of sweat and guts and puke as she cut into another victim. And Alastair’s heavy breath as he inched closer, his rough fingertips on her shoulders, sniffing her hair, leaning in close with his putrid breath on her neck—yeah she remembered _all_ too well.

Not that she was gonna tell Bobby that. “Dunno,” ruffling her hair as if it was difficult to remember. “I remember being puppy chow, then lights out. Woke up in a pine box. But something’s fishy about this. The gravesite…it was like a fucking bomb went off. After I woke up I felt this…I dunno, this presence.” She paused for a moment. “And then there’s this…” she shrugged off the button down she wore over her tank top, revealing the handprint scar on her left shoulder. “Something is not right about this.”

Bobby nodded. “I’ll ask my feelers but…as far as I know, once you’re in the pit, there’s _nothing_ that can pull you back out. We’re dealing with something we’ve never heard of before.”

Deanna nodded as she pulled the plaid button-down shirt back over her shoulders, flipping her ponytail over it. “Well, we’d best get on it, then. Where’s Sam, by the way?”

Bobby gulped. Just that one gesture made a lump form in her throat. “Bobby—”

“He’s alive,” he said quickly, shuffling some papers on his desk, digging out a cell phone. “As far as I know. But I haven’t heard from him in months.”

That didn’t make the lump in her throat disappear. “You don’t think—”

“I’m not gonna think anything until we find him. C’mon.”

\-----------------------------------------

When they finally tracked him down, Sam said he didn’t make a deal. Deanna chose to believe him, for now. Holding up in gross motel rooms with some chick he probably met an hour before didn’t seem to be behavior she thought a Hell-bound Sam might do.

That still didn’t explain a damn thing about how Deanna got out, though.

“There’s something else we can try,” Bobby offered. “I know a psychic not too far from here. Maybe she’ll be able to see what pulled you out.”

Giving a psychic all-access pass to Deanna’s noggin wasn’t exactly on her list of things she was 100% okay with, but they were out of ideas. Something had pulled her out for a reason. And knowing how these things usually went, it was probably a bad reason.

Besides, it wasn’t a bad idea.

\---------------------------------------------

No, it wasn’t a bad idea, it was _the worst idea ever._

Between the frantic rush to the hospital and the unease of hearing that name—“Castiel”, Deanna had enough. Once again, she had gotten someone involved and once again, it turned out for the worse for them. She was through of hiding.

She said so to Bobby after Sam went out to “get a bite to eat”. Whatever; if Sammy wanted to get laid, that was his business. “Look, Bobby, we gotta just summon up this ‘Castiel’ guy ourselves. Hiding behind Pamela didn’t do much good. If ‘Castiel’ wants me, he can damn well come get me.”

“We don’t even know what we’re summoning—“

“ _Exactly!_ ” said Deanna, as she slung a bag over her shoulder and headed toward her beloved baby. “The best way to find out is to call it to us.”

\------------------------------------------

And that was how they ended up in an abandoned barn in Michigan, the interior covered with protection sigils from every religion Bobby knew of, and every weapon Deanna had ever used lined up.

“This is crazy,” Bobby protested, as he struck a match to begin the summoning ritual.

Deanna just shrugged; maybe forty years in Hell doing things that she had never dreamed of in her darkest nightmares made her reckless.

The fire was lit, Deanna gripped Ruby’s knife a little bit tighter and exchanged glances with Bobby, ready for anything that came through that door…

And so they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She didn’t know how long they had been waiting, but After sitting down on the bench and taking to twirling the blade in her hands, she asked, “You did the ritual right, Bobby?”

Bobby gave her one of his, “I have been doing this longer than you’ve  been alive, don’t you dare question me, girl” looks. Deanna raised her arms in surrender. “Sorry…man, touchy…”

That was when she heard the wind beating on the roof. The steel roofing clattered against the wooden frame, beating so strongly that if Deanna would’ve sworn it was a tornado if she didn’t feel the charge in the air. She stood up, grabbing her shotgun and took one last look at Bobby; _showtime._

The lights behind them exploded, one after another; Deanna ducked from the hot flying glass as they continued to break, one by one. The noise from the roof and the lights were getting deafing and she cluchted her ears as she heard the creak and groan of wood; she looked up and saw the door, that she had Bobby had worked on barring, being thrown effortlessly open.

Then _he_ slowly walked in, framed by the light of the moon.

Honestly though, with the sparks and the wind and the whole barn shaking, Deanna had expected something a bit more…impressive, than what appeared to be a skinny businessman in an oversized tan trenchcoat. She only had a second to size him up; hunter’s training, just like her Dad taught her—but all she could see was still this skinny, scruffy guy with mussed-up sexhair, a loose, backwards blue tie and an ugly-ass trenchcoat walking in with a cocky look of immanent asskicking.

That was way hotter than it should’ve been.

Despite all their preparations, the stranger walked right over their devil’s trap—close enough that Deanna could see the absolute _blue_ of his eyes, before her senses finally kicked in and she fired her shotgun— _Bang!_ —the salt rounds went right through him, tearing holes into his coat, and he didn’t even flinch or stop walking towards them.

Something akin to fear crept in her stomach. If he didn’t even pause at the salt rounds… _they were in deep shit._

After a couple more blasts from Bobby, Deanna got the hint that maybe salt wasn’t gonna cut it. The sparks finally stopped flying and Deanna dropped the gun and grabbed Ruby’s knife off the table. She whirled back around, her ponytail whipping her neck, just as the stranger—presumably this ‘Castiel’ walked right up to her, right up in her face and looking down at her, and if she wasn’t so freaked she probably would’ve told him the last guy who got in her personal space like that got laid.

She saw Bobby reaching for the iron crowbar out of the corner of her eye, so she swallowed and plaid it cool, “Who are you?” she asked, gripping the knife tighter.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Deanna’s eyebrows raised. “Sounds kinky.”

The stranger smirked at her for just a moment—holy shit, that was _very_ hot. But well, hunter’s instincts—Deanna lunged forward and plunged Ruby’s demon killing knife into his chest.

Nothing happened.

Well, correction; Deanna pulled away, and instead of screaming and dying in a flash of light, the stranger just stared at her, still smiling smugly in a now kind-of terrifying way that was becoming less and less hot, and calmly pulled the knife from his chest, dropping in on the floor.

 _Fuck,_ they were doomed.

Bobby attempted to come to the rescue with a swing of the iron crowbar, but the stranger grabbed it out of midair without even looking. Deanna could only stare, mouth agape, as he spun around and touched Bobby on the forehead, and in one movement Bobby sunk to the ground, motionless.

He turned back around, and before Deanna could say another word he told her, “Your friend is alive.”

Deanna took a glance back at Bobby on the floor, before looking back at him. “Who are you?” she demanded, hoping she sounded more threatening than she felt.

“Castiel,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, I figured that out,” she glared at him now; smug dick. “I mean _what_ are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thin in the world.

Deanna could only stare. Stare, eyes widening, mouth slightly agape, waiting for Castiel to say it was a joke. What the Hell was he going on about? Angels? There were demons, sure, but _angels?_ But he didn’t—the seconds stretched on until she finally found her voice. “There’s no such thing.”

He smirked again. While Deanna had found that smirk with combination sex-hair, scruff, deep voice and electric blue eyes kind-of hot before, now it was just irritating. “This is your problem, Deanna. You have no faith.”

Thunder. Flash of light. And she found herself gasping as Castiel’s shadow-wings unfurled themselves against the sigil-laden walls of the barn. A shiver ran down her spine, and it most definitely wasn’t a horny one.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t kidding.

Still, maybe it was the shock of everything; having been in Hell just days ago and now _angels_ made her want to grab him and scream in a non-sexy way. “You call yourself an angel? What about Pamela’s eyes?”

He shook his head, sighing, “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It is impressive and overwhelming to humans.”

Deanna raised her eyebrows again. “You sure that’s just your true form, buddy?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, like a confused puppy. “I do not understand what you mean. But it would be dangerous for you to view my true form; that is why I had to take a vessel.”

“Wait,” Deanna narrowed her eyes. “You’re possessing some poor bastard?”

“This vessel?” Castiel smirked and looked down at his Holy-Tax-Accountant getup. “He was a holy man; he actually prayed for this.”

Well, that made the ‘true form’ comment she had said earlier go to an incredibly uncomfortable place. “Okay, dude,” she said, mostly to clear the “this guy doesn’t get it and I feel very dirty now” air. “Enough of this. Get to the point. Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

He stepped closer—Deanna wasn’t sure how much closer she could let him get before she had to step back. “Good things do happen, Deanna.”

She gulped and looked away. “Not in my experience.”

He tilted his head again, blue eyes widening as if he was looking into her soul.

Which, she reminded herself, he probably was. “What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Deanna gulped. She didn’t. “Why did you do it?” she demanded. “Really?”

He breathed in, standing a bit straighter. “Because God commanded it.” God? Really? How could she be important to _God?_ “We have work for you, Deanna Winchester.”


	2. Extra: Well, this is Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback moment: Bela pushes all of Deanna's buttons in just the right ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few comments about loving the hints of Deanna/Bela, so I decided to make it a thing.

On Deanna’s list of “Things I am okay with doing”, dressing to the nines to head to a charity benefit with Bela Talbot was not one of them.

“Are you sure this plan of yours will work?” Deanna asked, smoothing out the black second-hand dress she picked out that day with the last of her pool-hustling money. Funny how all she usually had to do was jut out her ass and flirt with one or two drunk truckers and the bills just came on flowing into her lap.

“You’re asking the great thief that previously foiled your every plan that?” Bela chuckled, that low, sensual chuckle with that low, sensual, British accent that made Deanna’s cheeks redden slightly. Her voice was like the voices of the women in those pornos Sam claimed he didn’t watch.

“If you’re sure then,” Deanna rolled her eyes, opening up the small makeup kit she always had stowed in the bottom of her duffel. She didn’t wear the stuff regularly, but knowing how to look smart was useful when pretending to be an FBI agent. She heard some shuffling on the other side of the room and turned—Bela and thrown off her shirt, revealing a black lacy bra underneath. Deanna’s eyes widened— _um._

She turned away and busied herself with pining her unruly hair up in a passable updo. Her sandy-brown hair was normally somewhere between wavy and straight—humidity and dampness turning it into a mass of frizz if she wasn’t careful. When hunting she usually kept it in a ponytail or a messy bun, only preferring to let it down when she had to turn on “Sexy FBI Agent Mode”. it was the same with makeup really—it was just a part of playing a character, nothing more.

It wasn’t like she had a chance to be a girl growing up the way she did.

“Wow,” Bela said a little later, walking over and looking perfect in her black dress and pearls, as usual. “You’re actually really pretty when you do that.”

Deanna hoped she wasn’t blushing. Which meant she probably was. “I _know_ how to put on the ritz. People are less inclined to believe you’re an FBI agent if you walk around in tank tops and shorts.”

“Ha-ha,” Bela laughed that annoying-sensual laugh of hers. “Perhaps you should dress this way more often. It suits you.”

Deanna gave a snort, waving her fake-nails in Bela’s face. “Yeah, because these drugstore stick-ons and high heels will work out so well when I’m hunting.”

“Well, you don’t always have to hunt, you know,” said Bela, shrugging as if it was a matter of fact.

“ _What?_ ” Deanna looked back at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m not gonna give up hunting just cuz you think I’d look pretty dressed like a red carpet model every day.”

“I mean you can have a bit of fun every once in a while,” the corners of her mouth ticked up in a smirk that sent heat rushing to Deanna’s face again. “You can go be Diana, Goddess of the Hunt and then on your off days do whatever you want. It’s that simple.”

Deanna swallowed. Bela thought it was simple—heck, Bela probably thought everything was simple; she slept “naked and rolling in money” (and didn’t that image send some more uncomfortable feelings zinging through her), but Deanna knew she could never be carefree.

She had a job to do. A job she had been _raised_ to do. And even if this was her last year on earth, she couldn’t throw away that job now. Rule number one, John had taught her; a hunter should always be prepared.

Even if she thought, sometimes about “a little fun”…it was pointless.

Hunting was her life. And, apparently, it would be her death.

Deanna shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m listening to you anyway. I still haven’t forgiven you for towing my car.”

Bela laughed; Deanna hated that laugh now. “Well, we’d better hurry up then; Sam is already on his way there.” Bela stood up, and turned around in one fluid movement, revealing the back of her dress was open. Deanna froze; Bela’s lacy black bra had gotten lost somewhere, revealing an expanse of smooth, tanned skin. “Now, be a dear and help a girl zip up, will you?”

Deanna swallowed, reaching with shaking hands toward the zipper.

Afterwards, she would put all her efforts into never thinking of this moment ever again. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels are dicks.

The angel thing seemed a lot more believable when her winged savior was actually there. Trying to explain it to Sam led to a whole other can of doubts.

“Look, Sammy, I just don’t know what else to tell you,” said Deanna, leaning against a counter at Bobby’s, well-needed beer bottle at her lips. “He walked in, all holy tax accountant and smug, said he was an angel, said he pulled my ass out of hell because God needed me, then walked out.”

Sammy stared at her, in awe and (if Deanna wasn’t mistaken) looking a little jealous? “See? He said he was an angel! And you don’t believe it?”

“Look, you weren’t there, okay? He was all power and smitey-face, but come on, angels? Toga and halo angels?”

“Did he have wings?”

Deanna paused, “Well, kinda—”

“See!”

Deanna rolled her eyes, taking a _long_ drink of beer. “Look, just because this guy says he’s an angel, we should believe him?”

Sammy pulled out one of his prime-bitchfaces. “Well, this ‘Castiel’ couldn’t have been a demon, right? He was immune to what? Salt rounds? Devil’s traps? Ruby’s knife? Look, Lilith is scared of him, so he’s gotta be something—”

“You two idjits can keep arguing religion,” Bobby cut in from his desk, eyes on an old book so dusty he had to blow on it when he first grabbed it off the shelf, “Or you can listen to this.” He pointed at some text in Latin, or Greek, or what-the-hell ever. “It says that only an angel can snatch a soul from the pit.”

Deanna folded her arms across her chest, her fingers unconsciously touching that handprint-scar on her shoulder. “ _Only_ an angel?”

Of course Sammy had to gloat.  “Look, Deanna, this is good news.” He had that I-was-right-and-you-know-it smile on his face that drove her up a wall sometimes. “This isn’t just another round of demon crap! Maybe it’s a good thing, you know?”

He mind wandered to what Castiel had said the night before “ _Good things to happen, Deanna.”_ “Oh, so what?” she demanded. “There are angels. You saying there’s a God? That there’s a ‘Heaven’? That if we all do good deeds we’ll end up hanging in the fluffy clouds with winged freaks when we die?”

Bobby didn’t find it as amusing as Deanna would’ve hoped. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way but, Vegas money’s on ‘yeah’.”

Deanna couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. A few days ago she was in the Pit torturing souls without a hope of anything but demonic, twisted implications for her future. Now she was back on earth, hearing that there was a God and angels and that she actually _mattered_ to them? “Look, Deanna, this isn’t about faith, okay? This is about proof—”

“Proof of what?” she demanded. “That there is a God and he gives a crap about _me?_ Sorry, but I just don’t buy that.”

“Why not?”

Deanna froze for a moment, meeting Sam’s eyes. Sam had his “I am your brother and I love you but I am concerned so tell me about your feelings so we can hug and Kumbaya them out”. “Look, I’m just—” Deanna started, paused, then started again. “Why me, okay? Maybe I’ve saved a couple people, but why the _Hell_ would I matter to _God?_ I’m just one normal friggin’ person.”

“Well, _apparently_ you are a ‘normal friggin’ person’ that is important to the Man Upstairs.” Sammy was way too smug about this. Sure, one time she told him angels were about as real as unicorns, but come _on_.

Deanna continued to stare blankly. Sam would never get it. “Well, that just creeps me the fuck out, okay? I don’t like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by,” she had to hide her skeptical cough. “ _God._ I didn’t ask for this, okay?” She didn’t _ask_ to be saved.

“Doesn’t matter. He did. So you’d better strap on your party hat, cuz it looks like God’s already baking that cake.”

Deanna resigned herself to the fact that her little brother just wouldn’t get it. “Fine. Whatever. What do we know about angels?”

Bobby, who had been mercifully silent throughout the whole exchange, handed her a stack of near-moldy old books. “Start readin’.”

\----------------------------------------

Of course, she didn’t get much time to process this and figure out what all this “angel-rescued-me-god-apparenlty-wants-my-fine-ass-for-something” meant. Rising of the Witnesses, nearly running out of salt rounds while blasting holes in vengeful ghosts; you know, just another day at the Winchester Office.

It wasn’t until after the near death experience was settled and Deanna and Sam had some downtime that she got some answers.

“Hello, Deanna.”

Deanna’s eyes blinked open—it was still night, and she was still crashing on the hard wood floor of Bobby’s house. Despite the darkness, she felt someone watching her—she looked up to see _him_ standing in the kitchen.

She’d only met him once before and she’d know that trench coat anywhere.

“Okay, what do you want?” Deanna asked, as she got up and walked towards him. “Don’t you know what watching people in their sleep is creepy?”

Castiel just stared at her—apparently he didn’t. “Excellent job with the witnesses.”

“What, you _knew_ about that? Well, thanks a lot for the assistance. I almost got my _heart_ ripped out of my chest.”

Castiel just rolled his eyes, like that was as mundane as stubbing a toe. “But you didn’t.”

Okay, she was thoroughly sick of this. Deanna reacted to unexpected situations in two ways—flirt with ‘em or threaten ‘em. Since she tried the former and it didn’t seem to work, she went for the latter now. “You know, I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Not _dicks._ ”

That intense blue stare only got deeper. “Read the Bible,” Castiel said, voice carrying a bit more of that “I am a fucking angel of the fucking lord, you insignificant human” tone he had when they first met. “Angels are warriors of God. I am a soldier. I’m not here to perch on your shoulder. We have larger concerns.”

“ _Concerns?”_ Oh yeah, now she was pissed. There was only so much she could take. Angels, God, fucking psycho murderous ghosts, whatever. But angels, “protectors of humanity” having larger _concerns?_ “Have you been down here? Seen what’s going on? There are people getting torn to shreds by monsters, demons, and those fucking witnesses we just barely stopped? Whatfucking _concerns_ does your boss have, huh? At what point does he lift a fucking finger and help the poor bastards stuck down here?”

Castiel looked away, and for a fleeting moment, Deanna thought she saw shame in his eyes. When he looked back up at her, it was the same intense look she had always known. It must’ve been a trick of the darkness. “The Lord works—”

“If you say ‘mysterious ways’ I will fucking kick your ass wearing high heels,” Deanna snarled. Castiel just shrugged and waved his hands apologetically, and then it hit her that she just fucking _threatened_ an _angel_. An angel who could probably smite her with a single touch for mouthing off.

Damn, she missed the days when all she had to worry about was having enough gasoline to torch a wendigo.

Castiel seemed to sigh. “We are in very serious times, Deanna.”

She swallowed, a sudden lump forming in her throat; pervious annoyance forgotten. “So, Bobby was right? The Rising of the Witnesses was a sign of the apocalypse?”

“One of the signs,” he agreed. “One of the sixty-six seals, to be exact. If all of them are broken, Lucifer walks free.”

Oh, he had to be _kidding_ her. _Lucifer?_ Just another thing to add to her every-growing “What the fuck?” list this week. “I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon sunday school. No such thing—”

Castiel stepped closer, that intensity back in his Holy-Fucking-Blue eyes that Deanna had no choice but to stare back at. “Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me.” He smirked again, though given the situation, Deanna didn’t find it at all sexy.

Actually, now that she knew what kind of dicks angels actually were, she didn’t think she’d ever find it sexy again.

“Why do you think we’re walking among you now for the first time in two thousand years? Lucifer. It’s why we’ve arrived.”

Deanna rolled her eyes. “Well, good-fucking-job with the Witnesses.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “We tried.”

“Oh, you want a gold star?”

“We have _other_ battles. This one, we lost.”

Deanna just stared. “You’re _angels._ You have all the powers of _Heaven_ at your disposal, and you _lost_?”

She saw the darkening in his eyes. Oh, that made him _pissed._ He stepped closer, all the way up in her personal space and _growled_ , “Our numbers are not unlimited. _Six_ of my brothers and sisters died this week. And you think the army of Heaven should just follow you around?”

“Oh, so I’m important enough to raise from Hell, but then you’re just gonna leave me to the wolves?” She countered.

“There’s a bigger picture here,” Castiel said, getting even closer. Deanna had to lower her eyes—dude was just _that intense._ “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you right back in.”

She bit her lip and muttered, “Save it for the BDSM club, pal,” but by the time she looked back, he was already gone, doing that weird-disappearing act angels were apparently wont to do.

She shook her head for a moment, running her hand through her slightly sleep-tousled hair. “Angels, _man._ ”

She really wasn’t looking forward to the next time she met angels.

\----------------------------------------------------

Of course she met one a week later.

“You have to stop it,” was all Castiel said, before zapping her Back to the Future style into the 1970s, to accidentally bump into Mary Campbell, future Winchester, of all people.

Even more of a surprise was when Mary Campbell pushed her against a wall and then whipped out a machete and cut off a vampire’s head that had apparently been stalking her for a few days.

So Mary Winchester had been a hunter.

And that wasn’t weird at _all._

Though the more unsetting part was when Mary took her back to her house and introduced her to “Samuel and Deanna Campbell”, who had to exclaim, “Deanna is such a popular name, isn’t it? And funny how much you look like Mary! You two could be sisters!”

Deanna was _begging_ Castiel for answers when he finally showed up, but all he said was “You have to stop it.”

Dick.

It wasn’t until later that Deanna realized what was at stake here—Azazel, the family curse, Mary Winchester’s life—and that she had to stop it from happening.

Castiel just had to show up then, as she drove to Colorado to retrieve the only thing she knew of that could put that bastard Azazel back in the ground where he belonged. “You realize, of course, that if you change the future, all those people you saved will die? Do you not care?”

Deanna tore her eyes from the road for a split second to glare at the _dick_ sitting across from her. “I care, damnit. I care a lot. But this is my _family._ These are my _parents._ I’m giving them and Sammy a chance to have a normal life here. I’m not gonna let them die again, you hear me? Not if I can stop it—” Of course Castiel choose that time to disappear.

Deanna rolled her eyes and smacked the steering wheel.

_Dick!_

But in the end, she couldn’t stop it. The Campbells still died. Mary still took the deal. The family was still cursed. She tried her hardest but in the end, just like everything, she failed. “I couldn’t stop any of it,” she anguished to Castiel later as he came to (once again) watch her as she slept. “Mom she—she still made the deal. She still died. Sammy and I are still cursed.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Castiel said, without even looking back at her. “It had to be this way. Destiny can’t be changed; all roads lead to the same destination.”

Anger flared up in her stomach. Standing up from the creaky motel bed, Deanna stepped towards him and demanded, “Then why did you send me back? Why did you tell me I could stop it when—”

“I never told you you could stop that.” His voice was still monotone, still unfeeling. He just sent her back to try and fail at saving her parents lives; he could at least _pretend_ to care instead of being some emotionless prick! “You know everything we know now. We know what Azazel did to your brother but we don’t know why—”

That was when Deanna noticed what was wrong; Sam wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Sam?”

“In a warehouse on 425 Waterman.”

Deanna glared her best, “I am not through with you, asshole, but Sammy comes first”, glare, but before she could leave, Cas had one last comment, “You have to stop it.”

It wasn’t until she got to the warehouse that she had any clue what it meant.

\--------------------------------------

Ruby.

Fucking Ruby.

Sam told Deanna not to have any hard feelings, but no, it was very hard _not_ to have said hard feelings, considering it was sort-of Ruby’s fault that she landed in Hell as Alistar’s favorite pet for forty years.

Also because it didn’t matter what Sammy said, Deanna knew this demon exorcist thing he had going couldn’t be good.

“I’m just helping people, Deanna!” Sam had ranted. “I’m saving them! That’s all I want to do—save people!”

Deanna had to take a slow breath to keep herself from ranting, “You’re exorcising demons with your _mind!_ Don’t you think that maybe, _maybe_ this might not be such a good idea?”

“Look, whenever we kill demons, they kill the host! I’m just trying to save these people!” Sam shook his head in disbelief. “I just wanna save them, Deanna. I’m tired of everyone I try to save dying on me!”

Deanna couldn’t say anything to that. She knew the implication. But it didn’t mean she had to _like_ it. She didn’t trust Ruby. Still Ruby got the hint to keep her distance, and that was that. Sammy agreed to stop, for now, so there was nothing to worry about.

\--------------------------------

Things fell back into the usual rhythm—ganking demons, rugaru, ghosts, etc, but at least, for a while, Deanna didn’t have to deal with Ruby or angels.

Until Halloween.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Sam nearly blew the angel full of holes before Deanna could grab him back. Just one glimpse of a smudge of tan in their hotel room was all she needed.

“Hold on Sam,” she yanked him back. “It’s Castiel.” Well, this was a surprise; she hadn’t seen Castiel in a while, and it seemed like he liked to keep to himself. That didn’t explain the other guy in their room, though. “ _Him_ , I don’t know.”

Castiel rose from the bed, standing up to his full height which was, funnily enough, still shorter than Sam. “Hello, Sam,” Castiel turned his usual, intense _I-am-a-celestial-being_ gaze on Sammy, and it’s all it took for her little brother to turn into Mr. Angel Fanboy.

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed. “Um, I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean—” Her brother was floundering all over himself like a middle schooler with a crush; she couldn’t help but raise that judgmental eyebrow. “It’s an honor. Really. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He reached his hand towards the angel.

And the angel stared back at it.

Deanna fought the urge to laugh, shutting the motel door, leaving her little brother to his embarrassment. When she looked back, Castiel seemed to have gotten it; he clasped Sam’s hand in his. “And I you. Sam Winchester…the boy with the demon blood.”

If Deanna was a director, she’d be doing that slashing motion right now. As it was, the angel just kept on plowing away at that sore spot. “I am glad to see you’ve stopped your extracurricular activities.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” said the other one in the room.

“Whatever, _Dick_ ,” Deanna snarled at him. Castiel was one thing, but this other guy, she didn’t know a thing about. He didn’t have a _right_ to talk about it. “Who’s your friend?” Deanna asked Castiel.

Castiel, as usual, ignored the simpler requests. “The summoning of Samhain; have you stopped it?”

“ _Why?”_ She wished there was a politer way to say “What the fuck does that have to do with anything and _who is that dude in our motel room?_ ”

“Have you located the witch?” Castiel demanded, so she figured she’d best carry on with it.

“Yes, we’ve located the witch,” she sighed, repeating words like a child to her mother.

“And, is the witch dead?”

“ _No_ , but we’ve got this,” Deanna rolled her eyes at him. “Just because we’re not all smitey and celestial being-y doesn’t mean we don’t got this.”

Castiel sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “Apparently you don’t,” pulling out a hexbag from his pocket. “This was in the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, one or both of you would be dead. Care to tell me how you’ve ‘got this’ now?”

Deanna blanched; Sam came to the rescue. “Look, we know who the witch is—”

“Have you located the witch?”

Sam paused. “We’re working on that.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Why? What do you _care?_ ” Deanna was done with this interrogation. “Why does _Heaven_ give a crap if a Halloween-demon comes to life in a tiny town in the middle of fuck-nowhere?”

Castiel glanced briefly at the back of his friend’s too-shiny head. “The raising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals.”

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” sighed Deanna. “We got tangled up in this Lucifer shit again?”

“This ‘Lucifer shit’ must be prevented at all costs,” Castiel growled back, giving her a glare as if she suggested it would be easier to just set Lucifer free.

“Fine. Tell us where the witch is, we’ll kill the bitch, everyone goes home happy and Lucifer will have to keep his shitty apartment in Hell.”

“The witch is powerful. She is cloaked to even our methods—”

“Look, we already know who she is,” Sam cut in, seeming to have finally gotten the message that angels were _dicks._ “So why can’t we work together?”

“Enough of this,” Castiel’s friend said, before Deanna could say it. “We do not have the time for pleasantries.” He turned around and—yep, his forehead was as shiny as the back of his head.

“Uriel,” Castiel looked back at him. “We have time.”

“Not much,” Uriel said.

“Time for _what?_ ” Deanna demanded.

Castiel glanced back at them, with a softer expression than he had before. “Both of you—you need to leave this town.”

“Why? What are you planning to do?”

Castiel glanced down for a brief moment. “We’re planning to destroy it.”

“ _What?”_ Deanna wished Castiel would at least _look_ at her. “There are a thousand people here! And you’re gonna kill them _all?_ ”

“The seal _must_ be saved,” was all he said in terms of explanation. “Too many seals have broken already. Lucifer _cannot_ rise; he does and Hell rises with him. ”

“Oh, so you fuck up and suddenly it’s okay to kill a _thousand_ innocent people? _Look at me,_ damnit,” Deanna glared, and Castiel did, at least, meet her halfway. “This is not okay, and you _know_ it’s not okay.”

She thought, for a moment, Castiel understood, he looked in her eyes, and he looked regretful, but Uriel had to cut in, “We have our orders.”

“You’re angels!” Sam cut in, still in the midst of his Oh-my-god-angels-are-actually-dicks crisis. “You’re not supposed to do this!”

“Says who?”

“We have no choice,” Castiel looked away, but no, Deanna was not gonna let him leave it there.

“Of course you have a choice! You _always_ have a choice! You’ve never questioned a crap order?” She saw Castiel straighten up, and kept going. “What are you, a _hammer_? You’re not a tool; you can think for yourself—”

Castiel turned back around, a new fire in his eyes, that had previously been so unfeeling. “Even if you can’t understand, _have_ faith. The plan is just. It comes from Heaven; so it is just.”

Deanna folded her arms across her chest. “Who are you trying to convince here?”

“When your father gave you an order, Deanna, did you question it? Or did you follow it, because it came from him?” Deanna faltered for only the briefest second; how was it that she had only known him for a few weeks, and yet he understood so much?

Still, he didn’t understand everything.

“Oh yeah? Well listen here, boys,” She said, clenching her teeth. “Your plan has changed. You want us to get out of town? Well, it ain’t gonna happen that way. I am special to God, right? So I doubt you’d smite the entire town if I’m still in it.”

“We’ll just drag you out,” Uriel snarled.

“Will you?” Deanna glanced back to Castiel.

He met her eyes. “I suggest you find the witch quickly.”

Deanna nodded, and headed back out the door. “Castiel!” she heard Uriel yelling. “We cannot—” And, though she wouldn’t admit it to Sam, it gave her some pride to hear Castiel yell, _“Enough._ ” back.

\--------------------------------------------

Of course everything had to go to shit.

Of course they fucked it up and Samhain had risen and the only way he could be stopped was for Sammy to use his demon superpowers again.

Of course the angels were gonna be mad.

So Deanna wasn’t surprised when she was sitting alone in a park and Castiel showed up.

“Well here it is,” she said, draping her arm over the park bench. “The ‘I told you so’, right?”

She was legitimately surprised when he said, “No. I am not here to judge you, Deanna.”

“Then why are you here?” she looked away, weary of all this angel crap. “You only come if you need something.”

“Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain.” Deanna looked back at him then, shocked and surprised. “Our orders were to do whatever you told us to do.”

Deanna paused for a moment; pursed her lips. “No restrictions on front-line combat in Heaven, huh?”

“It was a test,” Castiel agreed. “To see how you would perform under battlefield conditions.”

“It was a witch,” Deanna brushed it off. “Not the freaking Tet Offensive.”

And then Castiel did something amazing. He chuckled.

Huh.

“So I guess I failed your test, then?”

Castiel said nothing. She knew.

When he met her eyes again, she began, “Well, listen up. If I could do it again, I’d make the same call. I don’t know what’s gonna happen with these seals or Lucifer business, but you know what right now? All this—this park, those kids, everything—all of that is here because of Sammy and me. If Heaven wants to judge me for it, fine. But I know, no matter what your orders said, this was right.”

“You misunderstand me,” Castiel began, looking at her with that gentle expression she had seen before—that look that was underneath the I-Am-a-Badass-Angel-and-I-Will-Smite-You façade. “I was praying that you would choose to save the town, against my orders.”

“You _were?_ ” She didn’t think he had it in him.

He nodded, then looked back at the kids, playing and laughing on the swings and running around the park. “These people are all my fathers’ creations. They are all works of art; beautiful. I have watched humanity for ages and yet, I am always amazed.” There was a hint of a smile on his face. “But…despite this, the seal was broken.” His face fell. “We are closer to Hell on Earth…for all these beautiful creations to be destroyed…”

Deanna could only listen. Sometimes, when looking at him, she forgot he was a billions-old creature of light stuck in a poor shmuck’s body. A creature of immense power and glory and yet here he was, gushing about the beauty found in plain, mortal _humans_.

“Can I tell you something if you promise never to tell a single soul?” She nodded; he looked down, his hands wringing in his lap; it was a very human gesture. “I am not a ‘hammer’ as you say. I have questions sometimes…doubts….I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore.”

“Everyone has doubts,” she tried to comfort him; his eyebrows creased and he just looked so upset at the idea.

“Not angels,” he met her eyes; his own were hard as they tried to find the truth. “I know, this is not the time for doubts…so much will happen in the coming months…and I do not envy the weight that is on your shoulders. I truly don’t.”

Deanna had to break that intense eye contact eventually—Castiel just didn’t understand that humans didn’t _do_ that to each other. But when she looked back, he was gone.

Though he had warned her about what was to come, she was more worried about that pained expression on his face when he said, “I have doubts…”

Maybe Castiel wasn’t as much of a dick that she had imagined.

But if an angel had doubts…what did that mean for Heaven?


End file.
